Last Call

We sit in the car.
You break the silence,
Offering to drop me off.

Running my hand along your breast,
I don’t answer.
And outside,
The rain lands with care,
Gently enough to prolong the moment.

Rivulets forming along the windshield
Cast shadow trails along your skin.
I follow them.

In this way,
I turn the minutes into hours.
Consciously blending the love with the heartache.
Mixing up a double-shot of melancholy.

You are saying something,
Some promise,
But your face betrays it.
You know,
Although I smile,
That I don’t believe you.

I shut the door behind me without a word.
Like the lid of an oaken barrel,
I close these feelings
To ferment alone,

Eventually to mellow into something
Which I can sip at my leisure
And compliment on its smoothness.